


Spider-man and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Rosy_Thorn



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Kidnapping, Norman Osborn Is A Douche Conoe, Peter Parker Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosy_Thorn/pseuds/Rosy_Thorn
Summary: "The sun was shining, birds were singing, horns were honking, and something was terribly wrong."Peter wakes up with a bad feeling and the Avengers show up, proving him right.





	1. Terrible

The sun was shining, birds were singing, horns were honking, and something was terribly wrong.

  
Peter woke up late Saturday morning to the smell of fresh corn cakes and a faint tingle in the back of his head. It wasn't the “ _watch out for the fist headed for your face_ ” tingle or the “ _a space god is about to destroy the planet and there's nothing you can do about it_ ” tingle or even the ever so helpful “ _don't trip on your shoelace_ ” tingle. No, this was THE tingle. The tingle that would show up at seemingly random times and linger for hours, setting him on edge all day. It was the tingle that sometimes meant nothing at all, or sometimes lead to one of the most eventful days of his life.

  
Like the time he was being hunted by a crazy Russian, or the time he got kidnapped into space by a space god from another universe along with a load of other heroes.

  
He hoped this was one of those “ _it's actually nothing, I'm just putting you on edge_ ” tingles. He debated whether he should just cancel the day and stay in bed until tomorrow or get up and possibly face the worst day of his life. But the corn cakes and restless energy won over the caution and dread.

  
He yawned heavily into his fist as he shuffled into the kitchen. The plate of freshly baked goods sat on the counter with a small pink note.

  
_Peter,_

_I told you yesterday I would be spending the day with Anna. But I know how you can be some times, so I'm reminding you. Do your chores, do your homework, eat the corn cakes, and enjoy your Saturday. I should be back before 8:00_

  
_With all the love,_

_Aunt May_

  
The ‘ _do your homework_ ’ stood out with a pang of guilt. She never had to tell him to do his homework until… recently. He used to get it all done almost as soon as he received it. Shoving those thoughts aside as there wasn't much he could do about the problem, he grabbed a corn cake and savored the heavenly bliss by practically swallowing it whole.

  
He couldn't decide if having Aunt May out of the house was better or not with his spider-sense not letting up. He'd rather the potential catastrophic event catch him while he was in his suit, and not in his PJs while he did his homework. So, maybe it was for the better she wasn't home, save with Mrs. Watson, at who knows where in the city where costumed might freaks blow things up at any given time, so that he could go be Spider-man.

  
Peter let out pent up breath and grabbed another corn cake. He shouldn't let a false alarm ruin the day. All he needed was to get out there in his suit, let the tingle pass (or deal with the problem), punch some baddies, and save a few people's day, and maybe a few life's.

  
He nodded to himself, setting his shoulders. Just as he turned to leave he spotted the full trashcan and sighed.

  
The tingle never left, but the warm sun and thank you's brightened his afternoon. With the mild ache in his arms that came with webslining for hours he ran across rooftops jumping from one to the next. He woop as he flipped through the air, startling the pigeons away.

  
He was quickly closing the distance between him and a pillar of black smoke. He guessed from the direction it came from that it was an old apartment building that probably wasn't up to code. Coming to a halt on the building across the street of the fire, he found that he was right. He hated being right.

  
He dropped down onto one of the fire trucks, startling the fire chief and a police officer.

  
“Spider-man!” The officer jumped back, hand hovering over his weapon.

  
“Officer!” Spider-man parroted, crouched on the edge of the vehicle. “What's up, chief? How's it hanging? Is everyone out?”

  
The chief put his hands firmly on his hips, turning away from the hero. “I don't have time to deal with idiots, Spider-man. So, don't even think about going in there, and just go. JOHNSON, GET THAT HOSE HOOKED UP YESTERDAY. GO GO!”

  
“Aw, don't be that way. You know if you don't answer I'll go in there anyway and risk more not knowing anything.” He stood and stretched as if preparing to run in that second.

  
The officer looked from the chief's frustrated, pinched face to the famed, and wanted, vigilante sizing up the building.

  
“Sixth floor, apartment 602. An elderly man lives there and no one has been able to account for him. Everyone else is accounted for.”

  
“Thank you, Chief!” Spider-man hopped down and pat the chief on the shoulder. “I'll be out before you can say corn cakes in a cracker barrel!”

  
With the fire on the fourth and fifth floor, Spider-man leapt, slamming onto the brick wall of the sixth. He frowned at the warmth under his fingertips and crawled quickly up to the window.

  
Mouth hanging open as he watched the costumed hero crawl through one of the windows, the officer looked back at the chief, who muttered, “damn idiot is going to get himself killed.”

  
Noticing the officer's bewildered gaze, the chief glowered. “Get your hand off your gun and close your goddamn mouth. The fire ain't out yet and we have work to do.”

  
Spider-man dropped to the floor ready coughing. He dragged himself beneath the thick smoke, in the slightly less thick smoke, into the hallway and paused. “If I were apartment 602 where would I be?”

  
He couldn't see the apartment numbers, the smoke was too thick.

  
“602?! ARE YOU HERE, 602?!”

  
He didn't hear a response. He sighed -then coughed-, knowing this would be difficult.

 

* * *

 

  
Peter swung away from the old man yelling at him still for letting the smoke into his bathroom and ‘kidnapping’ him and landed on a nearby rooftop.

  
He pulled his mask over his nose and coughed until tears wet his eyes. When the need to cough up is own throat died down, he sat down heavily on the roof and just breathed.

  
“I think I deep fried my lungs,” he moaned, propping himself up with his arms and rolling his head back to look at the sky forlornly. “For an old man that didn't even want help.”

  
Another few coughs forced their way out, as his attention was drawn to the fire escape. Someone was climbing up it, rapidly. With a sigh he pulled his mask back down and heaved himself off the ground. For a moment he hesitated, should he wait to see who it was or just swing away? His spider-sense had been buzzing all day, so it was no help.

  
He took a few steps towards the ledge, when a voice stopped him.

  
“Spider-man, wait!”

  
The authority and urgency of the voice actually halted him in his tracks. He looked over to see Captain America jump onto the roof from the fire escape.

  
The intake of air Peter was shocked into had him coughing all over again. The captain approached confidently, but kept a careful distance.

  
“Are you alright?” the man asked, clearly concerned.

  
Peter held up a finger, signaling him to wait, as he couldn't get enough air to speak. As he pulled himself together, Iron man landed next to Captain America with a heavy clank.

  
“Hi,” Spider-man weazed, waving before coughing into his fist again. “I'm fine. I just might have a case of the black lung. Can you get black lung from house fires? It just- _cough cough_ -hurts to breathe is all. What brings you to these parts? You guys don't usually- _cough_ -hang around on rooftops.”

  
Iron man took a step forward, about to explain themselves, but Spider-man continued.

  
“Oh man, you're not here to arrest me, are you? Look, I know I'm wanted, but you gotta - _cough cough_ -understand, I'm not trying to wreck the city. But c'mon! - _COUGH_ \- You try and fight the rhino without breaking a few cars!”

  
He coughed into his elbow, standing tall and defiant, not even nearly reaching their height.

  
Iron man's face plate disappeared into the rest of his helmet. Amusement pulled his face into a small smirk. “We're not here to arrest you, Spider-man.”

  
“I know you don't have much reason to trust us,” Captain America cut in, “but you need to come with us. Your life could be in danger.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll!! Thank you for reading this!!! I wrote it and I love it.
> 
> It's loooooooosely based on an Ultimate Spider-man comic I read and felt could've been better, but it's not really the Ultimate Universe. It's its own, I think.
> 
> I've posted this on Fanfiction.net as well, but I am now testing out this site. 
> 
> Tell me what you guys think!!


	2. Horrible

 

Spider-man stared. They both seemed on edge, now that he took the time to notice. Shoulders tense, faces serious. They looked ready to give chase, if need be. They looked… actually seriously concerned about his safety.

 

Two small wheezy coughs interrupted the small silence.

 

“Yeah, okay. Where are we going? And what are the chances I'll be home by eight? The missus is expecting me to be home by then.”

 

Captain America blinked in surprise, obviously assuming it would be harder to convince the illusive vigilante to agree to accept their help. Little did he know though, that Spider-man would probably have gone with them, like a love struck fanboy, even if he knew for certain his life was not in danger. But as it was, Peter woke up knowing something might be horribly wrong and this just proved it. That. and he was fairly sure they were not the cause of his spider-senses issue.

 

Iron man scoffed, “you're not married. I bet you haven't even been graduated a full year yet.”

 

Peter bit his lip, because well, he wasn't wrong. “Ha, very funny. But the legal marrying age is eighteen, so even if-”

 

“Gentlemen.” Captain cut off the argument, giving Iron man a look that said, ‘ _this is serious.’_ “Our ride is here.”

 

Peter rocked onto the balls of his feet as he spotted the quinjet approaching, again hacking into his elbow. “Oh wow, you guys aren't kidding around. Again, where are we goin’?”

 

“Upstate, we'll fill you in on the way there.” Captain answered, signaling the jet pilot with a wave of his hand.

 

“Does Avenger Airlines serve the little pretzel packets?”

 

The jet lowered itself over the street until it leveled with the roof.

 

“No,” Iron man snorted, walking to the jet, “but we are serving oxygen masks on this flight. So, get your smoked hide on board so we can get you hooked up.”

 

Spider-man breathed deeply in the mask, trusting that the sterile, dry air would help with the pounding headache he'd developed in the middle of his forehead. His hand left black smudges on the mask. He looked at his hand and frowned at the ash coating. His suit was going to smell like smoke for the next decade.

 

Captain America sat harnessed in the seat across from him, while Iron man stood near the cockpit. Peter couldn't see who was flying, but he noted that they were flying fast. His mind probably matched their speed trying to figure out exactly who or what would catch the Avengers notice and put him directly in danger. None of the possible scenarios he came up with were pleasant.

 

“Sooo…” Peter prodded, voice muffled, looking between the two heroes. “You've said that I'm the damsel, but haven't been exactly clear on the distress part.”

 

Tony Stark lifted an eyebrow, “I take it you haven't been keeping up with the news today.”

 

“Er… no. I've been a little busy.”

 

“Rykers Island has been attacked. Half the prison collapsed.” Captain America pulled his mask off, looking weary. “Twenty three people lost their lives, many more were injured, and ten convicts have escaped.”

 

A sick feeling twisted in Peter's gut.

 

“Six of the escapees all have something in common:” Stark didn't have to finish the sentence for Peter to know, “you, Spidey.”

 

But he did. Peter pulled the oxygen mask off to rub his face.

 

“From what we've been able to gather, we believe they're working together.”

 

“Oh god.” Peter leaned forward, elbows on his knees propping up his throbbing and nauseous head. “Oh god. Who? Tell me who.”

 

“Maxwell Dillon, Flint Marko, Aleksei Mikhailovich,” Iron man listed of as if he wasn't spelling out what Peter's last days on Earth were going to look like, “Herman Schultz, Otto Octavius, and Norman Osborn.”

 

Peter's gut plummeted, the air suddenly sucked from his lungs. Iron Man continued, but Peter didn't hear him.

 

“We're thinking we'll definitely need your help rounding these guys up; I mean, it's quite the list of nutters with a wide variety of… difficult abilities. We have the police reports and such, but we want you to give us-”

 

Peter shot out of his seat, startling both men. His head spun and black spots danced in his vision, but he hardly noticed.

 

“We have to go back.”

 

“Uh yeah, no, Spidey. Didn't you hear me? They're working together, we need to get you-”

 

“NO,” Peter burst. Every second the jet flew the wrong way, he was that much further from Aunt May. “We have to turn around _right now_! My-my- he knows who I am. Osborn knows who I am. My family is in danger. He-he's tried to use her to get me before. Damn it! TURN THE JET AROUND!”

 

Iron man put his hands up placatingly. “Okay, hold on, calm down-”

 

They weren't listening. Green Goblin could be hurting Aunt May right now. Peter moved without choosing to. He had to get out of the jet. He could still see the out skirts of the city zipping past. He dove for the closed platform they'd entered on. Reacting to his spider-sense, he twisted back around and punched. His fist collided with Iron Man's helmet, as Captain America tackled him.

 

Peter hit the floor with the well trained super soldier on top of him.The man had him pinned with no way to twist out.

 

The sudden harsh treatment sent him into another coughing fit. He squirmed in the man's grip, unable to speak or breathe. The oxygen mask was shoved back onto his face.

 

“Calm down, Spider-man,” the Captain ordered. “Ant Man, the Wasp, and Black Widow are still in the city and can protect your family and get them to safety.”

 

Peter went slack beneath him. His lungs burned and his throat felt painfully raw, but he managed to breathe between the hacking. Captain America didn't loosen his hold.

 

“Are you hearing me, Spider-man?”

 

The question wasn't a challenge like the way some teachers would ask it while reprimanding. Captain America simply needed the confirmation.

 

Spider-man nodded, the coughing subsiding. Captain America stood, then helped Peter up.

 

“You need to tell us who we're looking for and where to find them.” Captain informed with a serious determination that Spider-man greatly appreciated.

 

But still, he hesitated, the words not wanting to form. The lengths he’d gone to to keep this secret were by no means small and the risk of having more people know... But the idea of Norman Osborn anywhere near her bashed all second thoughts.

 

“May Parker, she’s-she’s sixty-two years old, and lives in Forest Hills, Queens. But she's not at the house, she's with a friend, Mrs. Watson.” Peter spoke through the mask and sat down, suddenly sapped of energy.

 

“Okay, that's good. It's good she's not at home. Do you have a way we can contact her?”

 

“Yeah, I have her cell number, but she probably won't answer it.”

 

Iron Man shook his head. “It doesn't matter. We can find her with the cellphone as long as she has it on her.”

 

Peter recited the number, but stopped Iron Man before he could relay the information. “Wait. She, um, she doesn't know that I'm…” he gestured vaguely to his outfit.

 

Iron Man nodded, then stepped back and turned slightly away, giving instructions to someone.

 

“Is there anyone else, Spider-man?” The Captain asked, placing a firm, but comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

“Harry, Norman's son. They've never liked each other, but me and Harry are friends.”

 

“Are you Peter Parker, May Parker's nephew?”

 

It felt like an electric shock hearing his name from Iron Man. He sighed, nodding.

 

Iron Man swore. “Steve, he's sixteen. Barely.”

 

Peter felt the Captain stiffen through his hand more than he saw it.

 

He started coughing again. Half attempting to avoid questions for a hot second, and half actually trying to rid an itching tickle in his throat.

 

Once he was able breath normally again, Captain America opened his mouth.

 

Peter held up a hand, stopping him. “You don't need to say it. I see that disapproving look in your eye. I don't need to hear it.”

 

“Given your current circumstances, I'd say that you do.” Cap said, but thankfully left it at that.


	3. No Good

 

Peter felt awkwardly out of place and small in the sweatpants and hoodie, and temporary mask. It was nearly an exact replica of his own soot covered mask, but it was just different enough to feel foreign. 

 

Captain America walked beside him, roughly twice his size and looking completely confident and awesome in his uniform. They had insisted on a medical check, a shower, and a change of clothes. His Aunt had been located just as the doctor gave him an all clear. But he’d been told nothing else since then.

 

“Where's my Aunt?” He asked for the hundredth time.

 

Steve regarded him for a second, before sighing. “Somewhere safe with a few of the Avengers. I don't know where they are right now. She's a little panicked and is demanding that she talk to you. We're going to give you a phone to contact her within a minute.”

 

Peter nodded. “What did you tell her?”

 

“That Osborn has escaped and that your connection with Harry puts you in possible danger.”

 

They passed a group of people in Shield uniforms urgently jogging down the hall. Steve ignored them, so Peter tried to too.

 

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess. Will she be coming here?”

 

“Eventually, but Maxwell Dillon and Harmon Schultz were spotted in the city an hour ago, and Widow doesn't want to take any chances. So they're hiding for now.”

 

They entered a large room bustling with Shield agents and computers. Tony Stark, out of the Iron Man suit, stood swiping at the air like there were holograms only he could see. If Peter had to guess, he'd say that the sunglasses Tony was wearing had something to do with it.

 

“Spidey! Get over here, I need you to tell me what you can about the slippery six.” He gave the air one last flick before facing the teen.

 

“Uh,” Spider-man approached, staring at all the screens and video feeds, “what exactly do you want to know?”

 

“Anything you can tell us from your first hand experience with them.” Steve answered, crossing his arms.

 

“Okay, um, well, Max Dillon, or Electro, has a temper, and he doesn't appreciate puns. ‘Specially ones related to his name or abilities. His powers are… unstable. He didn't seem to know half of what he was capable of when I last fought with him. He's always learning new tricks and stuff with them. But like I said, he's got a temper and will go back to just throwing lightning around when he's angry. Less tricky.

 

“Aleksei, the Rhino, he's a simple man. Loves his mom, but ended up on the wrong side of the law and doesn't have many qualms about it. Easily angered. Doesn't appreciate animal jokes. But I've been able to talk him out of a rampage… once. Usually I use his own strength against him and get him to run into something that's able to stop him. Like a power line. Or wet cement.

 

“Hermon, the Shocker, really doesn't like puns. Mine specifically. He's got anger management issues, and doesn't care much about collateral damage. Without his suit he's still a good fighter, but the suit and those gauntlets, dude. They're a pain in the butt.”

 

Captain America's frown deepened after every sentence spoken. Not sure what he wasn't liking, Peter ignored him and kept going.

 

“Flint Marko, the Sandman. His powers would be much more devastating if he wasn't such an idiot, or if he didn't have a conscience. The more sand he has the less control he has over it and the less… cognitive he is. Get him wet and his sand becomes too heavy for him to move much. He has a temper and-”

 

“Let me guess,” Tony interrupted, “he doesn't appreciate your jokes.” 

 

“Yes.”

 

The man sighed tiredly, but amusement pulled his face into a smirk.

 

“Dr. Otto Octavius, big nerd. His arms are fast and strong and they  _ hurt.  _ But you get past the arms and it only takes one punch to knock the guy out. The problem is getting to him. He's an arrogant prick. He thinks he's on another level because of his high IQ. But it makes it easy to piss him off and make him stupid. He doesn't like puns. So, the worst kind of nerd.

 

“Norman Osborn is the biggest douche canoe of the century. He's absolutely insane and creepy. What makes him angry always seems random. Like I can poke fun at him all day and he's throwing insults right back like it's fun, I tell him I think he's medically insane and he flips. He's weirdly obsessed with me and thinks me and him would make a great team. But he's also told me that he wants to be the one to break me and kill me slowly. So. Yeah. He's also the smartest of the group. If I had to guess, I would say he's the ring leader. Or Doctor Octopus is making all the decisions, but there's no way Norman isn't manipulating and using him if he is the ring leader. But it surprises me that they're working together at all. I mean, none of them are really the ‘gets along with others’ type.”

 

“Well, they did have plenty of bonding time and something in common to bond over.” Tony shrugged and went back to swishing the air.

 

“Wait, they were held  _ together  _ in prison, like they spent time with each other? Who's bright idea was  _ that?!” _

 

Tony answered, shrugging again. “Most of them needed special containment measures, so they were held in the same area, and Rykers was trying to attempt group therapy for super villain convicts. It's what happens when they all get sent to the same place.”

 

“Those were probably the worst words ever spoken to me. They did  _ therapy _ together? Was it Rykers plan to have me killed?!”

 

Peter tried to imagine every super powered kook he'd fought sitting in a circle of folding chairs and shivered.

 

“How long have you been fighting people like this?” Steve asked, hands moving to his hips.

 

Peter sighed. “Alright, look, I know I'm young, but-”

 

A deafening alarm rang, as red lights flashed. Before Peter could even process the sudden noise, it stopped and the power shut off, plunging them into darkness.

 

The subtle buzz in the back of his head sprung to life as people began shouting orders and scrambling around in the dark. A few flashlights flicked on, and Steve grabbed his shoulders and started dragging him out of the room, using his body to shield him from… whatever was coming.

 

Tony Stark shouted something about a power surge, before bright electric streams burst from every outlet, computer, and cellphone. Agents screamed and collapsed as the arcs raced over them. 

 

Dust seeped out of the vents and after a bit of loud clanging from the ceiling, sand gushed in.

 

Peter's heart was pounding. Captain America threw his shield at the wall of sand that formed in the doorway. It passed harmlessly through, and the wall chuckled.

 

“Ey, Spider-man,” Marko formed in front of the wall, “‘ts not like you to run into hidin’.” He grinned. “Gotcha scared do we?”

 

Captain shoved Peter back. “Go, find a way out.”

 

And he charged the man made of sand. But Peter didn't get the chance to decide what to do. Arcs of electricity gathered in front of him, melding into the crazed, smiling form of electro. Spider-man tried to dodge the attack, but it followed him. And suddenly Electro had his wrist in his grip. Not good.

 

A familiar pain washed over him, ripping at his muscles, and dancing across his skin. It stopped and Peter dropped to the ground, unable to move or call for help as he twitched sporadically. 

 

“Here's hoping I didn't do any permanent damage.” The man nudged him with his foot.

 

Peter's eyes fluttered shut and the last things he was aware of was the sound of Iron Man's repulsors, Electro yelping, and an explosion that kicked him all the way into unconsciousness. 

 


	4. Very Bad

 

Stiff. Every one of his joints ached, begged for the relief of movement. But his muscles were too heavy and completely unresponsive. His head hung forward, causing the worst kink in his neck. Someone was smacking his face.

 

“Wakey, wakey, Spidey boy.”

 

He inhaled sharply, trying to get his eyes open.

 

“There you go. C'mon, I'm tired of waiting around.”

 

His head swam, and his eyes were much too heavy. A sudden jolt of electricity ran up his arm and made his head snap up as he yelped.

 

Electro grinned in his face with Sandman and Rhino right behind him. Peter's arms and legs were tied down tightly to a thick wooden chair with chains. His webshooters were gone.

 

“See, Marko? He just-”

 

Peter pulled, instantly breaking the chair beneath him. His foot shot up into Electro's chin. Chains still wrapped around his wrists, he flipped over Electro and punched Sandman's head off in a cloud of sand. The Rhino made a grab for him, but yelled in surprise as Peter jumped on him and pulled the chains around his neck.

 

Peter yanked the chain as tight as he could, sticking to the man's shoulders as he slammed into the cement walls trying to dislodge him. After a few attempts Rhino got his aim right, but Peter leapt off of him and onto the wall, still holding the chain around his neck before Rhino hit the wall.

 

Electro stumbled up off the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. He roared in rage and sent electricity flying towards Spider-man. But he dodged out of the way, tossing the other end of the chain in the line of fire and onto Sandman.

 

Electro saw his mistake a second too late and lit up his teammates.

 

Peter stayed high on the wall across the room from the villains, and grabbed the chain still dangling from his ankle. The exit was right below him, he just needed to distract Electro long enough to run.

 

Electro glared at him, panting. Peter opened his mouth to goad him, but the door suddenly burst open.

 

Norman Osborn stormed in, “Max, you absolute idiot! Where is-”

 

Peter lunged and his spider-sense screamed that he'd made a mistake. Norman spun around, smiling like a maniac. Hurtling through the air without webs, there wasn't much Peter could do to avoid the punch to his gut that sent him flying in the other direction. He slammed against the wall, and before he even hit the floor, metal arms seized him. They bashed him back against the wall, pinning his arms outstretched on either side of him. A third claw pressed his pelvis painfully into the wall.

 

He thrashed against the claws, but they only pressed harder. Finding that there was no way to get the doctor's arms to budge, Peter slummed, panting.

 

“Five against one is just unfair, you guys,” Peter complained, heart hammering in ice cold fear.

 

“That's six against one, bug,” Shocker seemed to brag.

 

“You literally haven't done anything, Shocky,” Peter rebutled.

 

Shocker growled, charging up his gauntlet, which Peter would really like to know how he got those back. But Norman put a hand on the man's chest to keep him from advancing with a stern glare.

 

“Maxwell,” Norman barked, his dangerous gaze switching to the idiot. “What did we agree on?”

 

“The _freak-_!”

 

“I don't care what he says or does! You're doing exactly what he wants, you dult!”

 

“Oh, he _wants_ me to fry him to kingdom come?!” His eyes literally crackled with energy.

 

“Of course not! He wants you to lose your temper and stupidly attack. I would have thought you all would have noticed this tactic of his by now.”

 

The tension in the room was thick enough to suffocate on.

 

“C'mon Normie, we both know it won't make a difference if they understand or not. They're just so easy to- hck.”

 

Octavius's forth claw suddenly pressed against his throat, cutting off his air. The doctor himself smiled as Peter kicked and struggled.

 

“Otto.” Norman's voice held a warning edge.

 

The doctor let go and Peter inhaled greedily. He coughed through his abused throat and was distantly reminded of before he'd been kidnapped.

 

“If anyone else goes against our agreement and hurts him, they'll answer to me.”

 

The threat seemed to subdue everyone's anger. Electro muttered something then stormed out of the room, followed almost sheepishly by Sandman and Rhino. The twisted realization that Norman was probably the only reason why he was alive set horribly wrong in his gut.

 

Slowly, Norman turned around, appraising Peter with a lifted eyebrow. He squirmed under his gaze and flinched when the man suddenly jumped, landing in a crouch on the metal arm pinning down his stomach and pelvis.

 

For a moment the man only watched has Peter tried and failed to get ahold of his panicked breathing. He did _not_ like Osborn being so close while he couldn't move.

 

“Take a picture, it-it’ll last longer.” His voice shook more than he wanted.

 

Norman's mouth twitched into a smile. But he didn't respond. Instead, he reached out and pinched the top of Peter's mask. He could only sit while Norman slowly peeled it away. He took another moment to study his face. Peter tried to glare past his fear, but failed miserably.

 

“Hiya Petey, long time no see.” Norman grinned broadly. He held up the mask in his hand, and looked it over like it was a work of art. “You fight magnificently.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nearly took out three grown men with _very_ useful powers minutes after waking up. You really never cease to amaze me.”

 

“More like milliseconds after I woke up.” Peter grunted. “But I'm impressed how well you guys are getting along. Kidnapping together, coming to agreements and everything. I'm so proud of you all. Keep this up and you might start a podcast together.”

 

Norman looked back down at him, unbothered by his jabbering. In fact, Peter would say the man was enjoying it, as if he knew something Peter didn't. Or maybe he was just getting a kick out of how his voice wobbled from strain and panic.

 

“But I have to ask, what's this about not wanting me hurt? I distinctly remember you telling me exactly how much you wanted to hear me scream in agony during our last date. I'm getting mixed signals here.”

 

A grin spread across Norman's face, making him look more goblin than human, as if he were just waiting for Peter to ask. Peter regretted asking. The man ran a hand over Peter's head, pulling back his hair. He tried to struggle away, but it was fruitless.

 

“Oh, Peter, Peter, Peter, always with the jokes. My boy, it's not that I don't want you hurt, no. I don't want you hurt unnecessarily. Because, there _is_ something else I want.”

 

Norman snatched up his jaw in an iron grip, forcing him to look up directly at him. Peter had forgotten just how strong Green Goblin was.

 

“I want you to behave, Peter.”

 

His eyebrows shot up, and he snorted, “if you think I'm going to do _anything_ you say-”

 

Norman's fist slammed into his temple. Peter gasped in pain. His head immediately pounded angrily in rhythm with his heart. He heard Doctor Octopus chuckle happily, and he wondered if Shocker was still there or not. Had Norman told them all who he was?

 

“Now, now, my boy.” The man was rubbing his hair again, still holding his chin and watching his dazed eyes come back into focus. “We'll have none of that.”

 

“I don't care how much you hurt me,” Peter spat.

 

The man only hummed and smiled. “That's what I thought you'd say, and I honestly believe you. But I'm sure you do care how much I hurt dear Aunt May.”

 

Peter froze. “She's-”

 

“Safe? With the Avengers? The same way you were? If they couldn't keep a super powered teen safe, how safe do you think a weak, old lady would be?”

 

The color drained from Peter's face.

 

“But I wouldn't just kill her the first time you misbehaved. Oh no, no, no.” Norman let go of his face. Leaning back in mock contemplation, he tapped his chin. “Maybe I would kill her darling friend first, Mrs. Watson, was it?”

 

“ _Don't_."

 

“Oh, if you kept misbehaving, I might send her one of your fingers, or an ear.” He ran his fingers gently over Peter's ear, making the skin tingle. “Could you imagine her devastation? Her poor heart may not be able to take it.”

 

“ _St-stop it.”_ Peter's breath came out in small gasps.

 

“Ah, and if that doesn't do it for you, I will bring her here and you will watch as Electro slowly cooks her from the inside out.”

 

“ _STOP IT! DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!_ YOU STUPID EGOMANIACAL BAG OF FILTH! _DON'T YOU_ **_TOUCH HER!_** ”

 

The metal arms creaked under the strain of keeping him pinned as he struggled against them, tears and murder in his eyes.

 

“ ** _Don't you go near her._** ”

 

Norman pat him on the head and smiled, as if his outburst was cute. “Now, now, if you behave yourself, you won't need to worry about her at all! It's all dependent on you. Do as I say and absolutely no harm will come to her. Of course, I do want you to understand before you get any bright ideas, if you somehow incapacitate or kill all of us here, -you're definitely clever enough to find a way if given the chance- your dear sweet auntie dies. I have multiple people hired and capable as soon as they receive the signal.”

 

Norman wiped away the stream of tears running down Peter's stunned face.

 

“Are you going to behave yourself, Peter?”

 

Peter couldn't breathe. He couldn't do this. He didn't know how to handle it. Were the Avengers coming for him? Would they be able save him? Keep May safe? He didn't want to know what Norman had planned for him. He didn't think the Avengers would get here before Norman told him to do something heinous, something he couldn't do. He definitely didn't think the Avengers could stop Norman from hurting May. He couldn't do this.

 

“ _Answer me, Peter._ ” Norman growled, threatening. “Are you going to do as I say, or do we need to take disciplinary actions already?”

 

That snapped Peter back to reality. “Don't.” he started, his voice small and shaky. “I'll listen. I'll do what you want. Please, _please,_ just don't hurt her.”

 

Goblin grinned and Peter felt sick.

 

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” the man asked, knowing full well just how bad it was, and pat him on the head. “Otto, you can release him. He's going to be a good little spider now.”

 

Norman gracefully hopped off the arm, and Doctor Octopus dropped him. Peter barely managed to stay on his feet as he hit the ground. He swayed dangerously. Lightheaded, queasy.

 

He took a few steadying breaths to keep himself from fainting, and to try and clear his throbbing head. The Avengers would come for him. He would just have to hold out until then.

 

He jerked away when Norman tried to grab his shoulder. The disapproving glare the man gave him made his eyes widen and slip to the floor. He held still, stiff as a board, while Osborn placed his hand on his shoulder.

 

“There's a good boy.”

 

Peter wanted to throw up.

 

“Now, you're a little too good at getting under people's skin, so do _not_ speak unless spoken to. And I expect ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ to be the only words you speak unless someone specifically tells you to say more. Do you understand?”

 

Peter nodded once, and Norman grabbed his chin again, wrenching it up.

 

“Do. You. Understand?”

 

His furious eyes bore down into Peter's, making him feel small and want to shrink back. But he didn't. Instead he set his jaw, and glowered. Ignoring the way his stomach twisted, threatening to spill its contents.

 

“Yes, _sir._ ” He poured as much animosity into the words as he could.

 

But his defiance only seemed to please Norman.

 

“ _Very good._ ” He praised, patting Peter on the head again.

 

Norman then slipped his Spider-man mask back over his head. He cupped either side of his face for a moment, looking him over.

 

“Me and Otto are the only ones who have seen your face and know your name.”

 

Peter's eyes flickered over to the uncharastically quiet doctor and shivered at the hungry expression on his face. His eyes flicked back when Norman continued.

 

“Keep your chin up, stick close to me, and let's keep your secret between us.” He dropped his hands, and began walking out of the room. “Come along, Spider-man.”

 

Peter made it two steps, before he pitched forwards into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> You are now caught up with what's posted on fanfiction net.
> 
> I really really enjoy writing this story. You have no idea.
> 
> Validate me and leave a comment, because I am insecure af and I really really love hearing reader's thoughts!


	5. Day

He came to with something heavy and _cold_ on his head. He was freezing. Wherever he was, it was cold. With a fumbling hand, he groggily reached up to push whatever it was off. It fell to the floor with a smack, jolting him awake.

 

He sat up, the thin blanket clinging awkwardly to his shirt. He was in a small room with grey, reinforced, walls and a large metal door. The bed he sat on was a thin mattress on a shelf protruding from the wall. On the other wall was a small table with two metal chairs. A security camera blinked at him from the corner above the door.

 

A cold pack lay on the floor between the bed and the table. Dark gray hexagons made up the the entire room, but the door. The door was metal and blank. It didn't even have a knob.

 

He reached up with cold fingers to feel his face, and let out a breath when he found his mask there. They'd taken the hoodie Captain America had given him, but he still had the shirt and pants. Scooting into the corner of his bed, back and shoulder against the wall, Peter curled into the blanket.

 

He might have tried exercising to get warm, if he didn't feel so weak and queasy. So he huddled with his arms tucked tightly between his chest and legs.

 

He could do this. He just had to stay alive, do as he was told, and wait for the right moment, or until help came. But what if they killed him before the moment came? Or what if Norman told him to kill?

 

He couldn't be the reason Aunt May got hurt again. But it was kind of too late for that. He was missing. She would be panicking. What if it's too much stress? What if her heart gives out?

 

An overwhelming swell of hopelessness crashed into him. And he'd gotten himself into this mess. How many people told him he was in over his head and to go home where it was safe? Daredevil, Wolverine, Captain Stacy, every other villain he faced. He didn't listen to them and now he was in way over his head. He barely managed to take each of these goons separately. Now, because of his stupidity, they were working together against him.

 

He tried to stop it, but the tears spilled over and before he knew it, he was hiccuping and blubbering into his knees. He kept it as silent as he could, but he was sure the camera could see him shaking with each sob.

 

The loud clang of the metal door shutting woke him up. He couldn't recall falling asleep. Slowly, he lifted his head to see Norman holding two trays of food.

 

Peter shivered, taking note of Norman's coat and gloves. It wasn't so cold that Peter could see his breath, but it was nowhere near warm.The man didn't say anything as he placed the trays on the small table, completely taking up its surface. He noticed the cold pack on the floor, and bent down to pick it up.

 

Peter didn't dare say anything, the rules and threat given from… before he passed out still fresh on his mind. Norman sat on the edge of the bed. Too close.

 

“Take off the mask, Peter.”

 

He did as he was told and glared. Osborn only smirked a little, before frowning and grabbing the top of his head. Peter squirmed out of his grip.

 

“Hold still.” Norman ordered.

 

Peter stilled and Norman turned his head, inspecting his temple. He rubbed his thumb over his tear crusted cheek and raised an eyebrow. But he moved on to brush his thumb over his temple. Peter hissed and flinched away.

 

The man hummed unhappily, and began fishing in his pockets for something. Meanwhile, Peter prodded the side of his face. It was tender and swollen. He frowned realizing that's where Norman had punched him. The hit hadn't been that hard, had it?

 

“I punched you,” Norman explained, seeing Peter's confusion. “Not long after, you fainted. You do remember, don't you?”

 

Peter nodded, dropping his hand.

 

Norman's eyes hardened, and he scowled at Peter. After a brief flash of panic, Peter realized his mistake

 

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, showing his irritation as much as he could.

 

Norman nodded, “good.”

 

Peter couldn't tell if that was a praise for his obedience or a comment on his answer. But he found he didn't care. He just wanted Norman to leave.

 

He flicked on a flashlight and shined it in Peter's eyes.

 

“Keep them open.”

 

Again, Peter did has he was told. The man looked at both his eyes and turned the light off and stuck it in his pocket.

 

“You're not concussed as far as I am able to tell. Which is good.”

 

Peter grunted. He was freezing and miserable and kidnapped. Whether or not he was concussed felt very minor at the moment.

 

“Come sit and eat.” Norman got up and sat down on one of the chairs. He looked at Peter expectantly.

 

It took every ounce of willpower he had, but Peter got up and joined Norman at the table, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. A thick steak, a mound of cooked veggies, a glass of water, and a bowl of soup sat on each of their trays. He scrutinised the meal with tightly folded arms while Norman ate.

 

“I told you to eat, Peter. Eat it while it's fresh and it'll warm you up.”

 

“Who even made it?” The question slipped out.

 

In a flash, Norman’s fist sailed across the table. Instinctively, Peter dodged it. For a moment they remained frozen like that: Peter leaning to the side with Norman’s fist next to his ear. Slowly, Norman withdrew his arm, and stood. Peter scrambled out of his chair and backed up against the far wall as the man approached.

 

His spider-sense buzzed, screaming that he was being trapped and needed to fight. He couldn't fight.

 

“You,” Norman frowned dangerously, “are not allowed to speak. _And_ . You are not allowed to dodge, block, or retaliate. Or there _will_ be consequences.” He grabbed Peter’s shoulder and leaned into his face. “Am I clear?”

 

Peter licked his lips, mouth suddenly incredibly dry. “Yes, sir.”

 

He closed his eyes tight as Norman straightened back up. His spider-sense screamed at him to _move move move move._ But he couldn't.  He wouldn't for May.

 

Two swift punches to the gut knocked the wind out of him. He stumbled but refused to fall. But he did double over. Norman used his position to knee him in the gut. Peter vomited and dropped to the floor. He gaped in pain, but he couldn't get air into his lungs.

 

Norman pulled him off the ground, and held him against the wall.

 

“Breathe, Peter.”

 

He took in a few tight, wheezy breaths, before his chest loosened and air came in abundantly. He gasped through the pain, staring at the small splatter of puke on the floor. It was funny really, how pain could sometimes clear one's head. Peter thought to himself that the pain wasn't that bad. Yes, it hurt like hell, and he definitely didn't want it happening again. But his fear and anticipation of the pain had been much worse. His fear of the pain was worse than the pain itself. If he'd been alone he might have called himself an idiot out loud.

 

As Spider-man he'd conquered his fear of pain all the time. He just needed to do that now.

 

He flinched when Norman grabbed the back of his neck, and put his face in his. Tears of pain blurred his vision, but he could still see the man smirking at him.

 

“Alright, Petey. Let's try this again, shall we?”

 

Norman dragged Peter back to the table and pushed him into the chair. Peter grunted as his stomach flared up with the forced movement. It was on fire. The man sat down and cut himself a small piece of his steak like nothing had happened. He looked at Peter with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.

 

Tentatively, Peter reached out for the glass of water to hopefully delay actually eating, and to wash the acidic taste out of his mouth. But as soon as the cold liquid passed his lips, his eyes widened. He. Was. Thirsty. He guzzled down the whole glass. Then hunger reared its ugly head, having been awoken by the water.

 

He pushed aside the uneasiness of eating the food Norman brought to him while the man watched with the small thought of, _‘screw him, I'm hungry_ ’ and dug in.

 

The reaction was minuscule. So slight it was a miracle Peter noticed. But Norman Osborn diverted his gaze away from Peter's poor table manners to his own food, disturbed. Peter shoveled another forkful of vegetables into his mouth to hide a cruel smirk. He schooled his features, and ate as messily as he could without giving himself away. He whipped his mouth with the back of his hand, didn't fully close his mouth for every bite, touched his food with his fingers, dropped small bits of food, and cleaned his fingers on his pants.

 

“It's good to see you enjoy your meal,” Norman tried to disturb him, get under his skin.

 

Peter wanted to laugh at the man's false smirk, but he remained unresponsive, only sending a small glance up in Norman's direction. The food _was_ good, and the steak would have been heaven if his stomach wasn't currently trying to push every bite back up.

 

Norman set his silverware down on either side of his plate and gently cleaned his mouth with the napkin from his tray.

 

The man was the definition of whiplash. Posh and proper one minute, and happily murdering with laughing pumpkin bombs the next.

 

“This room is where you'll be staying for the time being,” Osborn said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “The more you behave and earn our trust, the more freedom and comforts you'll be given. Clean clothes, more frequent meals, heating…”

 

Peter lowered the full fork back down onto his plate and looked up at Norman.

 

“I can't say how quickly you'll be able to earn freedom; the boys have very little faith in you. But if you're a good boy we'll let you out of the room once in awhile.” Osborn smiled like a shark at the worried frown on Peter's face. Then continued, “break any rules and you will be punished, and if the punishments don't work, or if the offence is bad enough, your aunt will be punished.”

 

Peter's fork crumpled in his grip.

 

“ _Don't-”_ Peter stopped himself when Osborn gave him a warning look.

 

Peter's head jolted to the side as Norman slapped him across the cheek. Looking back, he glared death at the man. His temple throbbed and he could taste blood in his mouth.

 

Ignoring Peter's defiant expression, Norman started piling Peter's dishes onto his own tray, even though Peter hadn't finished. He stacked the trays and Peter had an odd moment of deja vu, remembering back when Peter had dinner with the Osborns, and the most stressful thing at the time had been trying to decide if it was appropriate or not to thank the butler that took their plates. Norman motioned to the bent fork still in Peter's hand, and Peter dropped it onto the tray. Norman picked the fork up and studied it, before putting it back down with a smile.

 

Rage boiled underneath Peter's skin in response. He wanted to hit the man back. He wanted punch the creepy smile right off his face and make him regret everything.

 

Norman put a black mask on the table. “Any time you hear the door buzzer, you have ten seconds to put that mask on and to stand against that wall with your hands on your head. You don't move until the second buzz unless told otherwise.”

 

Peter looked over at the bed for his Spider-man mask, but Norman held it up and dropped it onto the tray.

 

“Got that, Peter?” Norman demanded, tearing Peter's gaze from his mask.

 

“ _Yes, sir._ ” He growled.

 

Again, his defiance only amused the man, but this time he actually laughed. It rang with a tinge of the insanity he heard from Goblin so many times. Osborn stopped with a content sigh.

 

“Let's practice then, shall we?” Norman stood, picking up the trays.

 

The buzzer sounded, making Peter flinch. It sounded like a painfully loud dying recording of a horn.

 

“Ten seconds,” Norman reminded him.

 

He was so mad his hands shook. But he took the mask and put his back against the wall furthest from the door. He couldn't see anything through the mask. Being blind with Norman in the room made his skin crawl.

 

“Hands on your head.”

 

Peter complied.

 

“This is just a small taste of prison, Peter. The place you sent each of us to. Whether things get better or worse from here is up to you.”

 

A faint swishing noise and a slight draft told Peter the door was open.

 

“Someone will be back in here to clean up your mess in a minute. Remember the rules.” Norman took a few steps towards the exit then stopped. “Peter? I'm going to give you the freedom to respond.” Norman paused sounding like he was smiling. “Goodbye for now, Peter.”

 

The words poured from his mouth like venom without hesitation, “ _go to hell_.”

 

And the Goblin cackled, relishing in Peter's anger. The door clanged shut, cutting off the sound off the laughter. Seconds later the buzzer honked.

 

Peter ripped off the mask, breathing in short angry huffs. He roared, screaming in rage. Without thinking, he grabbed the chair and smashed it against the wall. It bent with a loud crunch, and he chucked it at the door. The cheap metal chair crumpled and broke into pieces. He stood there fuming and glaring at the door.

 

The door buzzed and Peter's stomach dropped. He broke into a cold sweat as his brain automatically provided him a countdown.

 

 _One_.

 

He was going to be punished for breaking the chair.

 

 _Two_.

 

His breath hitched at the thought of willingly blinding himself to have Goblin beat him up.

 

_Three._

 

What was he supposed to do?

 

_Four._

 

He glanced down at the vomit. What were the chances it wasn't Norman?

 

_Five._

 

Was that better or worse?

 

_Six._

 

He forced himself to breathe.

 

_Seven._

 

His fear of pain was worse than the pain itself.

 

_Eight._

 

The fear is worse than the pain. He took a breath and put the mask on and his hands on his head.

 

_Nine._

 

_Ten._

 

The door opened.

 

“What the- did you seriously wreck something already?”

 

 _Not Goblin_.

 

Electro kicked the pieces aside. The stench of bleach began filling the room, making Peter's nose itch. He stood as still as possible, while Electro grunted in annoyance.

 

“Osborn,” Electro said, and Peter stiffened. “The bug broke a chair,” he paused. “Well, duh, I'll clean it up. Seeing as I got maid duty. I was asking what his punishment should be.” Electro sounded excited, but after another pause he grunted, “fine.”

 

Peter heard the click of a cell phone and silently released a breath.

 

“Yo, Bug, if you so much as twitch the wrong way I will light you up.”

 

Peter didn't respond, but it satisfied him a little bit to hear poorly hidden caution in Electro's voice. Electro set a bucket down and began picking up the pieces of chair. After a few moments Peter couldn't really tell what the man was doing.

 

“Move yourself out of the way and get on the bed, freak.”

 

Peter reached out to feel where the bed was, but Electro snapped at him.

 

“Keep your hands on your head!”

 

Peter complied, slowly scooching over until he felt the edge of the bed with his shin. He climbed on and paused. The mattress was gone.

 

Electro chuckled. “Broke the chair and lost your mattress. I would have preferred to make you scream for breaking our stuff.  But this works.”

 

Peter's anger flared back up again. But he just sat down, crisscross applesauce with his back against the wall.

 

“Oh damn, Bug, lift your shirt.”

 

Peter hesitated, but did it to avoid being electrocuted. He really didn't care what Max did. He just wanted the guy to leave.

 

“Oh _damn_ ,” he hissed in false sympathy, probably smiling. “Is that how Osborn got you to stop running your mouth? If I'd known all it took was a punch to your gut, I would have done it a long time ago.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes and put his shirt back down. Several rebuttals that would piss the man off ran through his head. The chlorine smell suddenly got stronger as liquid splashed onto the floor.

 

“Gotta say though, the silence is a nice change.”

 

Peter let out another silent sigh as the man scrubbed the floor and continued to rub in Peter's inability to speak. Peter wasn't bothered by a single thing he said as most of it sounded like the idiotic bullying of a fourteen year old.The idiot even forgot that Peter's hands were supposed to be on his head. Electro never was all that bright.

 

The memory of his kidnapping suddenly came to him. The Shield agents. Had Electro killed them? Did they die because Peter was there using their help? What happened to Captain America and Iron Man? The idea of Electro and Sandman killing Avengers felt a little absurd, but… people died because of less all the time.

 

No, he couldn't think like that. The agents were alive, the Avengers were alive, and they were searching for him. They had to be. Both Iron Man and Captain America disapproved of him superheroing at sixteen. How much more would they disapprove of said sixteen year old being kidnapped? He would say quite a bit more.

 

“Back on the wall, Webhead!”

 

Peter looked in his direction, to fake calmness and maybe freak him out a bit, before he did as he was told.

 

The door opened and Electro left, throwing a couple more profanities over his shoulder.

 

The door shut and then buzzed.

 

He pulled the mask off again. The thin blanket sat tossed on the metal bed and the floor was wet with bleach water. His stomach _hurt._ Lifting his shirt he found dark purple bruises splotching his stomach.

 

He shivered. He put his shirt down and grabbed the blanket. Climbing up the wall, he tucked himself into the upper corner above the bed.

 

The metal bed was much too frigid to sit on and with the floor wet, Peter felt this was his best option.

 

Peter sat up there shivering for what felt like hours, before he finally drifted off to sleep. When he woke, nothing had changed. He was cold and the room was empty.

 

He hopped down from the wall, landing in a crouch. For a while he just stared at the door, half expecting someone to burst in and beat the hell out of him for waking up.

 

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous. He literally had a built in alarm system for unwanted surprises. But he still felt like he was on extraordinarily thin ice.

 

The fear was worse than the pain, he firmly told himself.

 

He forced himself to relax a bit by reciting the periodic table.

 

It didn't take long, sitting in the absolute silence, for boredom to kick in. He'd moved from the bed to the chair to the ceiling and ended up back on the bed. No one seemed to be coming. He greatly appreciated the solitude. But staring at the same dark gray hexagonal pattern on all four walls and the floor and ceiling with nothing but thoughts of utter hopelessness and the frigid cold, he wished for something to distract himself.

 

He stood, and jumped onto the ceiling again, hanging by his fingertips.

 

Five of the ceiling hexagon panels brightly glowed, lighting the room. Avoiding the glowing areas, he walked with his hands across the ceiling over to the security camera. It was a small black ball with a red light inside one of the panels behind a tiny glass window.

 

The hexagons themselves were interesting. They felt like plastic to the touch, but were clearly something much stronger. The metal chair hadn't even scuffed the surface. He was also sure that the panels were made individually and later linked together, and probably could be taken apart again.

 

In his exploration of the room, he found the vent along the top of the door wall above the security camera. It was no help though as it was no wider than his thumb. He frowned at the cold breeze coming from it.

 

The jerks.

 

He dropped to the floor, landing on his hands. He did a few push ups like that, only to frown again. His body just felt so light that exercising without super heavy equipment seemed useless.

 

But he was bored and cold. Bored was probably the wrong word. Restless. That fit better.

 

He flipped onto his feet and approached the door. By just looking at it Peter couldn't tell which way it opened. Did it slide open, swing open, lift open? He had no clue. He stuck his hands on the cold surface. He tried lifting, pushing, and pulling it. Not to open it, just to… see how to open it. But it wouldn't budge. He had the sinking feeling that even if he used his full strength it wouldn't budge. But escape by just running away wasn't an option anyways. He couldn't risk Aunt May's life like that. He let his hands drop to his sides.

 

The best option he could think of was getting a secret message to the Avengers, or Shield. Even the X-men or the Fantastic Four would work if he got the right message to them. The only questions were how to get the message to them and what exactly he would tell them. Big questions, but workable. Osborn said he could earn more freedom, and the more freedom he had, the more he could learn about his whereabouts, and the better chances he had of sneaking a message to someone. That is all assuming Osborn was telling the truth.

 

Peter placed his palm against the door. He just had to wait. Be compliant and wait for his opportunity. He could do that.

 

He looked back at the small room.

 

He could do this. He had to.

 

An indiscernible amount of time later, Peter had a thought as he jumped from the ceiling to the floor and from wall to wall just to keep his blood flowing so he'd be less cold. He wasn't allowed to speak, but what about when he was alone? Were they _really_ going to stop him from talking to himself?

 

To test it, he started to hum a tune as he bounced and flipped around. He then mumbled the words of the song, gradually getting louder until he was confidently singing.

 

No change. They didn't mind singing, that or the camera didn't have audio.  But he doubted that.

 

Another chunk of time passed and Peter laid on the floor with his feet up on the wall. He drummed his fingers on his sore stomach as he tried to consider possible options for sending a message.

 

Ben Urich ended up at the top of Peter's ‘who to contact’ list. The man was smart and had connections all over the place. If anyone could get a message to the avengers discreetly, it was him. That, and, Peter had his contact information memorized because he may or may not have stollen one of the man's notebooks.

 

Peter had a strong suspicion that the Bugle news reporter knew that he was Spider-man. He had to steal the notebook. To protect his identity and in extension New York. The notes had been encrypted, but there are no limits to a procrastinating, paranoid high school student. The notes answered nothing for him in whether the man knew or not. But that was beside the point.

 

If peter had a the right handful of junk he might be able to send out a morse code signal via radio waves or something to anyone close enough. But Dr. Octavius would probably catch that. Maybe. The chance was high enough Peter wasn't sure he wanted to risk it.

 

If Peter pickpocketed a cell phone? Still extremely risky.

 

Using a computer? If he got access to a computer that would be a miracle. Not likely to happen.

 

Maybe if he got the chance to talk to Aleksei he could appeal to him.

 

* * *

 

He was sitting on the folded blanket on the bed, practicing Spanish, when the door buzzed. Peter gave a small yelp in surprise. Taking a breath, he got himself into position and pulled the mask over his head.

 

He hated this. He hated the mask.

 

After eternity the door opened.

 

“Face the wall!” Shocker barked.

 

Peter did and took comfort in the fact his spider-sense was relatively quiet. And mentally told Shocker that he could easily kick his butt all the way into next Tuesday if it wasn't for Norman playing dirty.

 

Shocker stomped in, slammed something on the table and stormed out. Peter counted the seconds between the door shutting and the buzzer.

 

_One_

_Two_

_Thre-_

 

Three seconds. He pulled the mask off and looked over at the table. It looked like lunch (breakfast? dinner?) was a water bottle, a bowl of mush, and an apple on the same tray as last time. As soon as he finished the last bite, the door buzzed again. Someone, he assumed it was Shocker, came, took the tray, and left without a word.  

 

The timing had his insides squirming. He knew he was being watched, but this just solidified it. Peter ignored the discomfort and went back to practicing Spanish. After his seventh run through of all the words he knew constructed into a nonsensical essay, his eyelids began to droop. It was then he realized that they probably weren't going to turn the lights off.

 

He tried to tuck himself into the corner like last time, but the lights were too bright. He really didn't understand how he managed to sleep with them on last time. After a frustrating amount of time struggling to sleep, Peter found that under the bed was dark enough to satisfy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter baby honey darling child. I'm sorry I do this to you.
> 
> I say as I continue to do it.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! And for the kudos! I'm really happy with the hits and kudos ratio!!


	6. Week

 

Assuming that they fed him twice a day, Peter spent four days like this. It felt like so much longer, but Peter had read about people in isolation. They always thought they'd spent more time than they had.

He cried more than once, missing home, missing his aunt, fearing for his life, he screamed and punched the walls, he recited formulas and Spanish, and he bounced and skipped around like nothing was wrong. No one spoke to him. Not unless they deemed it necessary.

Peter was on the verge of doing something stupid. The last meal he almost tore the mask off while the person took his tray away and begged for the time, the date, a conversation. He wanted to know how his aunt was doing. Where was he? How much longer would he be here? Were the Avengers coming? Were they alive? Were those agents alive? What did they want? Why was he here??

How could just four days drive him so close to insanity? He felt like he was going insane. He spaced out more, he lost control of his emotions more, it was getting harder and harder to think, and he had no real concept of time. And his dreams. They became so vivid, he sometimes had a hard time differentiating them from reality.

After his meal where he nearly lost it, he curled up under the bed to cry. The camera couldn't see him there, at least not fully. After a long run of frustrated tears, he eventually drifted asleep, wishing he could handle all this more stoically, like other the heroes would have.

“ _Peter_ ”

He curled further in on himself, willing for sleep to stay. It was cold and he'd rather not deal with it just yet.

“Peter”

His eyes shot open, only to be greeted by Norman Osborn’s upside down face. He inhaled sharply and jumped up. But didn't make it very far before he hit his head on the underside of the bed. White specks dance across his vision. Norman chuckled and disappeared. Peter rubbed his head and watched the man's feet warily as he walked away from the bed and sat in the chair.

“Good evening, Peter. Why don't you come out from under there.” He sounded pleasant and friendly, the way he used to sound towards Peter before Peter learned his secret.

_Evening?_

Peter pulled himself out and stood. He took in the man in front of him, leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, relaxed, but still business like. His hair had been slicked back, not a hair out place, and his clothes looked expensive. More expensive than an escaped convict should be able to offord. Peter hated him. Hated every last bit of him.

“Have a seat.” The man gestured to the bed.

Peter sat, blinking in surprise when he was met with a cushioned surface. There was a mattress on the bed again, thicker than the last one and a new blanket. He looked back at Osborn, immediately suspicious.

Osborn put his elbow on the table and held his head with two fingers and his thumb. His head tilted like a curious dog. “What were you doing under the bed, Peter?”

Peter frowned, not really feeling like explaining himself to the biggest jerk in the universe.

The man lifted an eyebrow. “I asked you a question, Peter. You may speak.”

Peter bristled, not liking that Osborn assumed his silence was obedience. _But wasn't the goal to be obedient?_

“I don't like people watching me sleep, it's creepy, and it's a little hard to sleep with the lights on.” He said, looking at Norman flatly.

But Norman only smiled. “Well, you've been exceptionally good this week-”

_This week? Had he been here a whole week?_

“- and as promised, you're being rewarded. You'll get a shower and a change of clothes today, and we're raising the temperature of your room, also, as you've ready noticed, you get a mattress.” He sat back up, pleased with what he was telling him. “I'll see what I can do about the lights at night, but the camera stays on. I'm sure you can understand.”

He had missed a week of school. He'd missed a Spanish test. Aunt May had been worrying about him for a week. Was she alright? Was she still with the Avengers? Were the Avengers still looking for him?

How much longer would he be here? How much longer would he last?

He'd been here a full week and gotten absolutely zero opportunity to make any progress with his game plan. But wait, he would be taken out of the room to bathe. Right? He might be able to at least learn something useful. Like a clue to his whereabouts.

Norman snapped his fingers in front of Peter's nose, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Pay attention, Peter.” He reprimanded. “I just said that I'm also giving you the freedom to speak, but only to me.”

Peter blinked. He hadn't seen that one coming. Norman waited expectantly.

Peter cleared his throat. “Why would I want to do that?”

“It's a privilege you will quickly lose if you aren't careful,” Norman warned, unbothered. “The boys feel that your behavior has been uncharacteristically compliant. They were saying that they think you might have some sort of plan up your sleeve, despite the consequences for such things.”

Norman pinned Peter with a stern look, searching him. Face blank, Peter held his gaze. Norman hummed.

“I don't think you have much of a plan. There's really nothing you can do without putting too much at risk, except wait. And that's exactly what I believe you are doing: waiting for the Avengers to come rescue you, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself.”

Peter tried to control the squirming feeling of being trapped and exposed. He told himself that Norman had said it himself in that there was nothing else he could do, so it shouldn't be a surprise that the man guessed correctly. “You caught me. I've been waiting this whole time, locked in a room with absolutely nothing to do by a psycho whose favorite pastime is blackmailing and hitting a minor. What conniving idiot would choose to wait for something to help in such circumstances?”

Norman's mouth twitched in a frown and Peter could practically feel the walls of the grave he was digging himself closing in. But he just couldn't help it. He hadn't spoken to anyone in so long. And damn if it wasn't satisfying.

“I can assure you, little spider,” Norman's eyes narrowed, “there isn't anyone or any opportunity that will come for you. You are waiting for nothing.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at Norman's  intensity. Ignoring his sweaty palms and incredibly dry mouth, Peter tossed another shovel of dirt over his shoulder, “that's what they always say. But Brie Larson did answer my fanmail and it was well worth the wait.”

“Make your jokes if it helps you.” Suddenly looking calm and nonchalant, Norman adjusted his sleeves and checked his watch. “But it doesn't change anything. You'll understand the truth of my words soon enough.” Norman stood. “Come, put your mask on, and hold onto my arm. Try anything and there will be punishment.”

Peter reeled back. Disturbed by the very thought holding onto the man, never mind while he was blind.

Norman grinned. “Now, now, Peter, we have to get you to the shower somehow. You really do smell terrible.”

“And whose fault is that?!” Peter shook his head and stood, keeping his distance and his back away from the greatly amused jerk. “I am not blinding myself to go _anywhere_ with you!”

The smile on Norman's face darkened as he strode forwards. Peter took a small step back, but kept himself from backing up against the wall. He glared up at the man.

“Are you going to start misbehaving now? Do I need to remind you of the consequences? Dear Aunt May has been so distraught th-”

Norman easily caught Peter's fist, and frowned at the teens tearful glare disapprovingly.

Just hearing her name had tears spilling down his cheeks. _He missed her._ The idea that Norman had seen her while he couldn't _hurt_ , and burned cold right down to his bones.

“ _Don't go near her,”_ he growled, voice shaking.

Norman shoved him against the wall, hand on his throat. Automatically, Peter's hands gripped Norman's wrist, and he had to force himself to not fight back.

“Again,” Norman spoke lowly, “it's completely up to you whether or not I ‘go near her’. Now, are you going to do as you’re told?”

It took a moment, but Peter nodded. The answer didn't satisfy as Norman's eyes hardened. Peter bit his lip, knowing what he wanted.

“Yes… _sir,_ ” he wheezed out. The words tasted like vinegar on his tongue.

Norman dropped him and held out the mask. Peter eyed it warily.

“Peter,” Norman pressed warningly.

Reluctantly, Peter took it. He glanced up at Norman with a frown before he slipped it on.

‘ _This was a good thing. Part of the plan. Stop freaking out, Parker._ ’ Peter tried to calm himself. ' _You're leaving the room. It's a good thing.’_

“Good boy. I don't think I need to remind you of what will happen if you try anything.” He let the threat hang heavily. “Now hold out your hand.”

Peter did and flinched when Norman  grabbed it. He guided his hand to hold onto the crook of the man's elbow. His fingers twitched, desperately wanting to let go. He knew Norman wasn't going to do anything as his spider-sense was relatively quiet, but it was like holding a tarantula: the zookeeper says it won't bite, and you believe them, but it just feels so wrong to have it crawl across your skin.

As soon as Norman led him out, he started counting his steps. His bare feet padded across what he thought to be hardwood floor. He stumbled every now and then, uncomfortable with the pace Norman kept. The itch to rip the mask if and bolt overwhelmed him. He was out of the room and nothing physically stopping him. But Aunt May.

“Osborn,” Dr. Octavius called from the left, his voice slightly muffled like he wasn't in the hall with them, but in a room.

Norman stopped walking. “Yes, Otto?”

“They have been tested and are ready for use.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“Excellent! Just in time, really. I'll come back for them in a minute. Thank you, Otto.”

“My pleasure.” He’d gotten closer. “How are things with Mr. Smerdyakov-”

“Otto,” Norman cut him off, “not in our present company.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot myself there, I apologize. Spider,” Octavius addressed him, and Peter stiffened, “how are you doing? Excited about the new accommodations?”

Peter thought he was poking fun and didn't answer, but Norman snapped at him.

“Answer him, Peter.”

As tempting as it was to ignore them both, he said, “been better. And no not really. Give me a cellphone with some apps, a tv, or even a card deck to cure the boredom and _maybe_ I'll be excited.”

Norman laughed, and Peter got the distinct feeling Octavius was smiling.

“We'll get there eventually, Peter.” Norman pat his hand. “Just not yet.”

Peter bristled.

“I'll see you in a minute, Otto,” Norman dismissed and continued on.

They entered an elevator, rode it up in silence, and exited to a carpeted area. Several rooms away people argued.

“You're cheating, Hermon! I know you are!”

“I don't need to cheat to beat your worthless-”

“Max, Hermon, please, could we just play game?” Rhino's deep voice requested.

They didn't listen to him.

“Idiots,” Norman grumbled, then shouted, “SCHULTZ!”

All of them suddenly went quiet.

“Yeah, boss?!” Shocker yelled back.

Norman breathed through his nose and Peter suppressed a chuckle at the man's irritation. He sure did smile, though. But instead of yelling back, Norman marched to them.

Peter knew when they came into sight because he heard several intakes of breath and a few cuss words. Humiliation crept into his cheeks at being seen holding onto Norman like a child with a bag over his head by people who used to fear him. Well, sort of. People were rarely scared of Spider-man. But they had been weary of him.

“You have a job to do, Schultz. In fact, all of you do. Get. To. It.”

“Ah, sorry, boss. We lost track of time.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood.

Norman didn't respond, he only turned and left, Peter stumbling after. He could hear Shocker jogging to catch up.

“So, just gotta watch the bug bathe, right?”

“You'll stand outside the door as he bathes.” Norman clarified.

“Right, right. Gotta protect his secret identity and all that. Of course.” He responded lightly with a heavy dose of bitterness. “and you're positive I don't need my gauntlets for this?”

“He won't try anything.”

“Right, because of the ‘blackmail’. Hey, Bug, what's he got on you that has you so docile?”

Peter kept his mouth shut.

Norman suddenly shoved Peter forward. He stumbled from carpet onto tile, his hand finding the smooth surface of a counter.

“We've discussed this, Schultz.” Norman's voice was tight with anger. “You try anything, do anything other than your assigned job, you'll regret it.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.”

There was a pause, before Norman spoke again. “Spider-man, you have forty five minutes. Same rules apply here as in your room. You hear a knock and you stand at the back wall with the mask on and your hands on you head. Leave your clothes in the hamper, there are new clothes on the counter. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter just wanted him gone already.

“Very good,” he praised, then shut the door.

“He's definitely up to something. I'm telling you, the bug ain't the type to comply even if you break some bones.” Shocker said, muffled by the door.

“He won't do anything today, but I am well aware.”

Peter tore the mask off as Norman walked away. He blinked away the brightness of the lights. The bathroom was extravagant. A jacuzzi of a bathtub in the corner, a fancy jet shower around another corner, an actual, real, flushing toilet with gold seams, an ocean blue mosaic floor, and a matching sink with a counter the size of texas, also with gold seams.

For a minute he only stood in slight shock. Where were they??

He finally caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like death rolled over, gaunt, tired, messy. He didn't like looking, couldn't even look himself in the eye.

He looked at the door. He doubted he was underground, at least not anymore, and Shocker didn't have his gauntlets on him. Breathing heavily, he took a step towards the door. Then he stopped. He couldn't. Not until he knew for a fact his aunt was safe.

He released a shaky breath and stepped back. He could do this. He could be patient for May.

He ignored how that sounded like a lie and turned away from the door.

He found the folded clothes on the counter and sighed. Yes, the shirt and sweatpants he was currently wearing stunk to the high heavens, but he really didn't want to give them up. Captain America gave these clothes to him and they had been stupidly comforting to have.

Idiotically, he teared up as he tossed them into the hamper, knowing he'd never see them again. He smacked his hands onto his face.

“C'mon, Parker. They're just clothes. Get over it.” He whispered.

He shook off the tightness in his throat, and turned towards the shower. He was going to get clean and enjoy his forty five minutes of access to running water.

After finishing his shower, he left the water running to check all of the cabinets and drawers. A hairbrush, a toothbrush, and toothpaste was all he found. Everything had been emptied. He desperately wanted to steal something, take something useful. There really wasn't anything in the bathroom. No hiding places, no nothing. The place was air tight, beautiful, and useless. He shut the water off.

He brushed his teeth four times, then started the bath. As time passed, Peter found himself with his chin rested on the edge of the cooling tub.

He only stared, mesmerized, at the mosaic flooring.

All too soon, Shocker shouted, “ya got five minutes, bug.”

With a sigh, he climbed out of the tub and dried himself off. He put on the matching gray shirt and sweats, refusing to look at the hamper. He looked at himself again.

He could do this. He had to. There was no giving up.

He grimced when someone knocked on the door. He got ready and the door opened exactly ten seconds later.

“Hold your arms out in front of you.” Norman ordered.

Norman grabbed his hand and snapped something on his wrist. Peter stiffened. His spider-sense did not like it, the cuff or whatever it was. He pulled back his other hand, knowing it was next.

“Peter.” He said in warning, causing the buzzing in Peter's head to flare.

The teen released a tired breath in defeat and extended his hand. The second cuff clicked onto his wrist. They were much heavier and larger than normal handcuffs. They covered half his forearm.

“Dr. Octavius designed these for you. They really are something. And perfectly capable of holding you.”

Moving, Peter was surprised to find that they weren't linked together. He ran his fingers across the cold glossy surface, not finding any sort of crease.

Suddenly  the cuffs slammed together, jolting his elbows and making him flinch.

“They're electromagnetic,” Norman explained. “They're also able to give you a nasty shock if need be.”

The cuffs released their hold on each other and Peter rubbed his wrists.

Norman snatched one of his arms and put Peter's hand in the crook of his elbow again.

As they left the tile and stepped onto the carpet, Shocker complained angrily, “this is ridiculous Osborn, why can't we just see his face? Don't have t'know his name.”

Peter twitched nervously. He didn't like being treated like he wasn't there, and he definitely didn't like being blindfolded with Shocker upset. He'd seen the man lose his temper before and it's not pretty.

Norman spun on Shocker. They were probably nose to nose. “You agreed to my terms. Don't forget where you would be if it I hadn't asked you to join me.”

With that, Norman stormed away. Shocker grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him back. Peter didn't mean to, he just reacted, but before he knew it his fist connected with Shocker’s face.

Peter froze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ho hey ho you guys
> 
> I'm writing like three other fics in addition to this now because I have no self control.
> 
> Also, I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but I totally did it in purpose.
> 
> So, sorry, not sorry.


	7. Wait, it's not gonna be longer, is it?

He didn't breathe. He didn't pull his fist back. He completely froze.

 

Shocker had fallen back and was now cursing up a storm about his bleeding, and probably broken, nose.

 

But all Peter could think about was Aunt May. He'd messed up. He'd messed up bad. His aunt was going to be hurt because he couldn't handle being blindfolded and grabbed.

 

Shocker suddenly had Peter by his shirt and lifted him. “Do you want to die, punk?!”

 

_ Yes, that would be preferable to Aunt May being hurt. _

 

Peter felt lightheaded and dizzy. He'd messed up so bad.

 

Electricity raced up his arms and he spasmed. Shocker yelped, dropping him to the floor. The pain stopped and Peter gasped for breath.

 

The punishment had been too short for the offense. It solidified his fear for his Aunt.

 

Someone grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. They held him firmly by his arm to keep him from falling over again.

 

“What was that, Osborn?!”

 

“His punishment. You shouldn't have grabbed him.” Norman's growl rumbled close to Peter's ear.

 

“ _ He broke my-” _

 

“That was your own fault, Schultz.”

 

Shocker muttered more curses under his breath, then said, “he hit me, I should be the one t'punish him.”

 

Norman sighed tiredly. “Very well. He hit you once, so hit him once.”

 

“Twice.”

 

“ _ Once.  _ Or not at all.”

 

There was a pause. “Fine.”

 

Peter hardly heard the conversation, only just enough to know the hit was coming and not to dodge. Norman grabbed both of his arms and held him still.

 

His spider-sense told him where, when, and how the punch was coming. He found it funny how accurate it could be at times and other times it just vaguely told him  _ ‘danger, Will Robinson’ _ . He let the punch land, but couldn't help moving with it to ease the blow. His lip split and his head hit Norman's chest.

 

The two men exchanged more words, but Peter didn't hear them at all. What was Norman going to do to Aunt May?

 

Then he was dragged away by his arm. He stumbled along, still too dazed to do anything else.

 

The floor suddenly moved, and Peter nearly lost his balance. The tight grip still on his forearm kept him up.

 

Next thing he knew he was being gently pushed down onto a soft surface. A hand pulled off the mask.

 

Norman knelt in front of him, a strange frown etched on his face. Peter was sitting on the bed in the room. Black spots blotched his vision, threatening to take over.

 

“ _ Peter.” _

 

He met Norman's eye.

 

“You need to calm down and breathe.”

 

It was only then Peter noticed his breaths were coming in tight minuscule gasps. He took a deep wheezing breath, and another and another and another.

 

“Peter.”

 

“Don't,” he gasped the word out. He grabbed the man's sleeves, he couldn't let him go. Couldn't let him hurt her. He suddenly he couldn't stop the words that poured out of his mouth. “I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I swear, I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to punch him! He-he grabbed me and I-I-I didn't mean to! Don't- don't hurt her. Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her because I didn't mean to! Don't-”

 

“Peter! I'm not going to hurt your Aunt! You've been punished already. It's done. I hardly blame you for punching him. It's the dolts own fault.” Norman said, sounding annoyed.

 

Peter could only stare wide eyed as his breathing slowly settled. An overabundance of tears burst forth and flowed down his cheeks. 

 

“What?” he whispered. He needed to hear it again.

 

Norman ran a hand through Peter's hair, and smiled sympathetically. “Your Aunt won't be punished. Not for that.”

 

Peter's face crumpled and a hiccuping sob bubbled out.

 

“Oh, Peter,” Norman hummed softly. “You're such a good boy. Caring and selfless to a fault.”

 

He pulled out a handkerchief and started dabbing at Peter's bloody chin, working his way up to his lip.

 

Peter couldn't see anymore; the tears blurred his vision. He still gripped Norman's sleeves as he cried. Relief, confusion, shame, dread, and a whole pack of unnamable emotions crashed around in an unmanageable mess he couldn't get ahold of. He dipped his head down, hiding his face.

 

“Why?” Peter asked in a shaky breath.

 

“Why?” Norman asked for clarification, surprised by the question.

 

“Why are you doing this? Why am I here?” A shudder racked his frame and he let go of Osborn, wrapping his arms around himself. “I thought- I thought you wanted revenge. I thought you were going to make me do things, commit crimes for you. I thought- I thought you wanted to hurt me. But I'm just  _ here _ in this room! I don't understand! I don't understand why I'm still alive. I don't understand why you- why you’re keeping my identity from everyone, and why you won't let them hurt me. I don't  _ get it _ .  _ None of this makes any sense!” _ He cried desperately, despairingly. Then in a small voice he hated himself for, he sobbed, “ _ I just want to go home.” _

 

“My boy,” Norman practically cooed.

 

He gently pulled Peter to him, so that Peter's forehead rested on the his shoulder, making soft shushing noises. Peter didn't want to be this close to Norman. He didn't want to cry into the man's shoulder. He didn't want the man petting his hair as if to comfort him. But he didn't have the energy to fight it. He was exhausted and just wanted to go home.

 

“I'm doing this for you. Without proper guidance, your faults will only grow and they will ruin you. If left to your own devices you will only end up killed for the sake of the weak and worthless on the false belief that it'll make a difference. You're absolutely amazing, Peter. It would be such a waste. A scientific anomaly, an accident, a perfectly balanced hybrid, a genius in the making. You are a passionate, intelligent young man with no one to help you make the most of it.” He pulled Peter back up, holding his face. Peter could only stare, breath hitching, eyes wide with shock as Norman smiled fondly. “In time you'll understand the power you possess and understand that what I've done is for your benefit.”

 

Peter's gut froze over in horror. He would have preferred revenge over this. He would prefer  _ anything  _ to this. Norman was insane. His eyes shone with it.

 

“You're absolutely exhausted. I'll have Otto turn the lights off. Get some rest.” Norman pat him on the head and pushed the handkerchief into his hand, then left.

 

The door shut behind Norman, and Peter crumpled onto the bed, unable to hold back the terrified and hopeless tears. Soon the lights shut off and he was left sobbing in the darkness.

  
  


When he woke it was still dark. He could see a small light coming from the camera, but that was it.

 

He shifted and the cuffs clinked together, startling him. He'd forgotten about them. Using his sticky fingers, he gripped the edge of the cuff and gave it a few tugs. He could tell his wrist would break before it did.

 

He curled in on himself. What happened yesterday? Last night? 

 

He totally freaked and lost it. He  _ cried _ in front of Green Goblin like a baby, and Goblin  _ comforted _ him, and he  _ let _ him. Just the memory of it sapped him of all strength. He had failed, he broke. Norman won last night, because the torture of being alone, starved, powerless, and confined had worked despite Peter’s efforts. All it had taken was a week.

 

A desperate need to escape sparked inside of him. He couldn’t do this anymore. He was Spider-Man. He  _ needed _ to retaliate. To fight back. But the thought of Green Goblin going near Aunt May had him crashing back down into hopelessness. His inability to do anything against Norman made him feel small and weak. He was past his frustration over his weakness, now he was just tired.

 

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't stand the room, the box, the silence. His chest tightened at the thought of New York and it's skyscrapers. He wanted to swing freely in the open air again. He wanted the familiar rush of dropping from hundreds of stories up. The box was too small, suffocating. 

 

He wanted to tell his Aunt the truth before he died. The truth about Uncle Ben, the truth about his frequent injuries, his absence. He probably would never get the chance to now. Peter let out a shuddering breath.

 

“Come on, Parker,” he said out loud.

 

He couldn't afford to think like that. Yes, he lost. But that was one loss. Parker's never gave up. And Spider-man always got up. He would make it out of this.

 

He had too...

 

The next thing he knew the lights flashed on. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd gone back to sleep or not.

 

A few moments later the door buzzed. Peter jumped out of bed in a slight frenzy. 

 

_ Where was the mask?! _

 

He spotted it folded neatly on the table. He snatched it up with a huff and shoved it on.

 

Not a second later the door wooshed open. Immediately Peter knew who it was. Only Rhino sounded like he was groaning as he breathed. He wondered why Aleksei was the one bringing the food. He hadn't done it before. Peter was actually surprised the hulking man fit through the doorway. The temptation to rip the mask off and make a break for the door while it sat wide open was beyond tempting. His feet even twitched with the need. But he couldn't do that to May. He could stay in the box a little longer for her. He could. He could. He could.

 

The tray hit the table gracelessly, and Aleksei lumbered out.

 

As soon as the door buzzed again, Peter ripped the mask off. Breathing heavily, he put his forehead against the wall. As he steadied himself mentally, he caught sight if the glossy silver on his arms. 

 

The cuffs. Happy for a distraction of any kind, he looked over the flawless surface and briefly thought of the comic book character Wonder Woman. He struck a pose, mimicking what he had seen of her. To his dismay, as he did so he realized the new clothes matched the gray on the walls.

 

His hands lowered slowly with a sigh. He didn't feel like a hero anymore. He felt like a kid. A powerless kid that can't do anything to stop the bullies in a place with no grown ups to help. He was in their world, playing by their rules. 

 

Peter blinked at the tray. There was something between the grilled cheese and the water bottle. It only took him one step closer to realize what it was. A card deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up? It's been a minute. 
> 
> I decided to shorten this chapter because I'm stuck on the next scene and you guys have been stuck on the cluffhanger long enough. 
> 
>  
> 
> I love for feedback and conversation. So if you're up for it, I'd love to hear from you <3


	8. Steve and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop Avenger time

 

Steve stared at the hot plate of food he'd just prepared. Moments ago he had been starving, but his mind suddenly decided to tormented him with the crushing question, “ _ did Peter have food? _ ”

 

He honestly doubted that the boy was still alive. Missing for over a week in the hands of six of his enemies; his odds being slim was an understatement. But he couldn't bring himself to make that call. He was sure that until they had evidence to confirm otherwise, they would always assume he was alive.

 

The attack on the prison had been planned carefully, made to look reckless. The escape had been planned flawlessly. The kidnap had been planned thoroughly as well. A strong hunch with little to no physical backup told Steve that they could've taken him at any time, but they waited until he was in the facility. 

 

For what reason, Steve couldn't figure.

 

But now they had five super powered criminals completely off the grid with no trail and a missing hero. A missing boy.

 

His phone buzzed on the table top, pulling him out of his head. He knew without even looking at the caller ID who it was on the other side, probably nervously holding a tissue against her lips.

 

He picked it up and answered, barely giving himself time to steady himself. “Goodmorning, Mrs. Parker.”

 

“And goodmorning to you, Captain Rogers,” Her voice shook, and Steve's heart clenched. “I'm sorry for bothering you so early.”

 

“It's not a bother, ma'am. I'm an early riser.” His voice remained light as he slouched over the table, holding his head in his palm.

 

He knew the question coming, he'd come to know it well over the last few days.

 

“Have you-have you found anything?”

 

Every time it felt like a stab in the gut. A stab to the gut would be better, actually. How long would she keep calling everyday if they never found him?

 

He sucked in a shaky breath and it wobbled out. “No, ma'am.”

 

She was quiet for a long while. For a moment Steve thought she hung up.

 

“He was on the news this morning,” she tells him. “Pete- I mean Spider-Man. They- they've noticed he hasn't been out…. And they were speculating…” her voice tightened, tilting up until she couldn't speak.

 

Steve now understood the early call. Normally she called in the evening, when school got out. He also knew the kid got the worst press, and didn't have to stretch his imagination too far to figure what they'd said to upset her. “We both know he had nothing to do with the attack on Rikers Island, and what the news said about Spider-Man never bothered him. He even joked about it with us. Don't let them bother you too much.” As he said this, he realized Spider-Man may have presented a carefree attitude about it, but that didn't mean it didn't bother him.

 

A wet sniff crossed the line. “I would have believed them if I didn't know. If-if you hadn't told me when he… when they... I believed them before I knew it was my boy under that mask…” Another sniff, much less controlled than the first. “He's a good boy, Captain Rogers. Please, bring him home.”

 

“Yes, Ma'am.” Steve tried to sound confident, but he just felt tired.

 

After they said their farewells, Steve snapped the phone closed. He sighed, looking at his rich breakfast and only seeing paste. He wasn't hungry anymore.

 

“I don't know why you do that to yourself. Any of the Shield agents could take her calls.”

 

Steve looked up to see Tony entering the kitchen. He moved to the cabinet and pulled the coffee grounds out by the bag, piling them into his arms.

 

“I don't know why you're doing  _ that _ to yourself.”

 

Tony looked down at the bags, and back up at Steve. “I ran out in the lab.”

 

“Tony, when was the last time you slept?” Steve asked as he got up to put his plate away.

 

“Ten minutes ago. I dozed off while standing. Hence the coffee.”

 

“Tony, it's been over a week-”

 

“HE'S NOT DEAD, GOD  _ DAMN IT!” _ He threw one of the bags. It hit the fridge and exploded in a cloud of brown powder.

 

Steve stopped. Then sighed, putting his plate on the counter. “I was saying since you've slept. It's… been a week since you've had  _ real  _ sleep.”

 

Both men looked down at the floor. The heavy silence swallowing them whole. 

 

“He was… he was right there, Steve.” Tony covered his face with his free hand. “We had him. He was supposed to be safe with us and all it took was two of them to take him right out from under us!!”

 

“I know, Tony.” 

 

“He's sixteen. His enemies have had him for a week! Because I couldn't- because we weren't prepared. He's  _ sixteen... _ ”

 

Tony jumped when Steve slammed a bottle of pills on the counter next to him. But he kept them in his hand as he jabbed Tony in the head with his finger, making the bottle rattle.

 

“You have one of the smartest brains on the planet, and you're being an idiot. The lack of sleep's got you emotional-”

 

Tony bat his hand away, “more like the lack of alcohol-”

 

“-jittery, and sleeping on your feet. You're not going to find him like this. He needs your brain running on full capacity. Take these,” Steve shoved the bottle into his hand, “and sleep. Recharge, and re-approach the problem with a fresh perspective. Your AI will be searching the entire time you're asleep and alert you to any changes.”

 

Tony opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. “I hate it when you're like this.”

 

Steve grabbed the stack of coffee grounds from him. “You mean you hate it when I'm right.”

 

Tony scowles, but left in the direction of his room with a sigh.

 

“You should follow your own advice,” Natasha leaned against the doorway with a delicately cocked eyebrow. “But I am impressed you managed to talk some sense into him. He wouldn't even look at me when I tried.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Caught him in the right moment.”

 

“He hasn't joked about wanting alcohol in a while…” she observed. 

 

Steve only grunted a hum. “How'd the interrogation go?”

 

“I'm not sure.” Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means Osborn's story lines up, and I didn't catch any sign that he was lying beyond a few white lies, but I still don't believe him. Just a gut feeling. It may be nothing.”

 

“You're considering that he's telling the truth though.”

 

Natasha pressed her lips together. “It's a possibility. An improbability that he's telling the full truth, but…”

 

“What exactly did he say?” Steve leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

 

“Same thing we heard from the chief of police. He claims he'd been blackmailed into pretending he was the Green Goblin by Green Goblin. He speculated that he was chosen for the role because of his wealth and his connection to Peter.

 

“He lost contact with the goblin after he was arrested and went with the assumption that their deal still held. However, according to him and two other unreliable eyewitness, Green Goblin had been the one to attack the prison, but there’s no definitive proof that it was him. Norman says he escaped and hid in a safe house, assuming that’s what the Goblin wanted, but the Goblin still made no contact with him. After seven days of hearing nothing, Osborn turned himself in. 

 

“He says during his time hiding in the safe house he reevaluated things and is now working with Shield. Giving them all the information he has in exchange for protection from Goblin.”

 

“But you don’t believe him?”

 

Natasha shook her head, irritation over the puzzle pulling her eyebrows together. “Something was off. I just don’t know what.”   
  
“Well, the fact that he’s been in a cell for the last twenty four hours and Goblin has been sighted four times in the last forty eight, and the fact that he has video footage of himself in the safe house that backs up his story-”   
  
“I know, Rogers.” She frowned. “I’ll right up a report. See if I can get figure this out. There’s something amiss. I know there is.”   
  
Steve nodded. “Figure it out and report back to me as soon as you do.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Peter stared off into space upside down on the ceiling. Nothing filled his mind. He'd been doing this more and more. Just staring and being. No thought in his head, no emotion in his chest. He had no way of telling how long he spaced out. But he knew it happened frequently.

 

The card deck remained unopened on the table. They felt tainted, but Peter couldn't place why. He just knew that using them felt like losing.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door slide open. A small swell of satisfaction flickered at knowing the the door slid open to the left.

 

Norman walked in, a single tray in hand. But Peter didn't break out of his trance. He didn't want to. Putting the tray down, Norman stared silently, and Peter contently ignored him

 

When was the last time he saw the jerk? Three meals ago? No, it had only been two.

 

“Parker.”

 

The sudden intrusive noise made Peter jump. He looked down at the man. He was frowning unhappily.

 

“Get down here.”

 

The temptation to say no and be difficult was overwhelming. But Peter reminded himself that he needed to pick his fights wisely. With a dramatic sigh of complaint, Peter dropped down, landing on the bed in the same criss cross position.

 

“Give me your hand,” Norman demanded, holding out his own.

 

“Why?” Peter asked suspiciously.

 

A small shock from the cuffs was the only answer he got. With a scowl he held out his hand and Norman took it, turning it over and inspecting the cuff. He tugged on the edge experimentally. 

 

“Are they too tight?” He asked still messing with it.

 

“If I said ‘yes’, you would say…?”

 

“Perfect.” Norman smirked at him.

 

“That's what I thought,” Peter sighed, then internally squirmed when Norman chuckled, enjoying Peter's attitude.

 

He let go of Peter's hand and spotted the unopened card deck. 

 

“You haven't used the cards you requested.” He picked them up.

 

“Yeah, I didn't want to touch them if you had. Contamination and all that. But I wasn't sure if you had touched them or not and decided to play it safe.” Peter shrugged, and pulled himself further onto the bed to lean against the wall.

 

Norman smirked again and threw the deck at him. He automatically caught them and Norman grinned mockingly. Peter scowled and tossed them to the corner of the room.

 

“Can I make a request for hand sanitizer?”

 

“If you say ‘please’.” 

 

Peter smirked at the effort to stump him, but he had no shame. Not for banter he didn't. “May I please have the biggest bottle of hand sanitizer you can find? It’ll take a lot to get the ‘you’ off. You're peskily persistent and hard to get rid of.”

 

Norman laughed, as if they were conversing pleasantly over a meal. A sick feeling settled heavily in Peter's gut. What was he doing? He was having fun  _ with Norman. _ Bantering back and forth like they used to when they fought on relatively even ground. For a second Peter was enjoying himself. 

 

Seeming to sense Peter's sudden unease, Norman moved on.

 

“I brought you today's paper. The Daily Bugle.” He lifted the corner off the tray to show him.

 

“The  _ Bugle _ ? Seriously?” He was already doing it again. He supposed it was reflex at this point.

 

“Yes, I know they're a rag of a newspaper. I don't understand why you chose to work for them.” Norman stood, straightening his coat. “But I'd thought today's issue would interest you. You're in it. Twice actually. Front page and page three. I think there’s a possibility that Jameson had a fondness for you despite what he paid you.”  The door opened and Norman walked out. “Happy reading, Peter.”

 

The moment the door shut, Peter launched for the newspaper. His hands shook as he read.

 

“OSBORN A VICTIM OF GREEN GOBLIN OR ACCOMPLICE?”

 

Peter's stomach sank. Goblin had attacked two seemingly random locations, with the assistance of Electro and Sandman, in the last three days. If Peter had to guess, Goblin was targeting Tombstone’s illegal operations. The crime boss had backed out of a deal right before Norman's arrest and took it upon himself to pick up the pieces of Norman’s underground empire. Which had originally been a part of Fisk’s empire before Daredevil broke it. The Avengers apparently were hot on the tail of the menace, but have made no comment on the innocence of Osborn.

 

But the paper claimed that Norman was currently in prison, having turned himself in two days ago and revealing shocking secrets. Blackmail. death threats, and big pile of BS. Norman was not in prison, would rather die than be blackmailed, and what was this last bit about Spider-Man being in cahoots with the sinister six?

 

Apparently his sudden absence after the breakout was enough for JJJ to question his innocence in the matter. Who was he kidding. His boss would have blamed him no matter what.

 

He was sure Jamison wrote that bit himself.  _ The sinister six.  _ Had the man’s creative signature all over it.

 

But how was Norman doing it? He was here. Not in prison. The article really didn’t give enough information for him to figure it out. He wondered if Norman would tell him if he asked.

 

He turned the page and found his second appearance. It wasn't Spider-Man like he'd been expecting. The article was about Peter Parker. His school picture stood out underneath a small headline.

 

“Missing Teen Found Dead”

 

The paper slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a small  _ thack _ . For a moment he couldn't breath as he tried to wrap his head around what he saw. 

 

_ He wasn't dead. _

 

He fell to the floor, frantically turning the pages back to the third.

 

The article blamed his connection with Spider-man for his untimely death. The connection being the photos he took for the Bugle. The body had been found days ago, burned beyond recognition. But they were able to identify him thanks to his camera and DNA testing. The article went on about the tragedy it was that a hard working, intelligent, young man fell victim to the ever growing world of supers. It mentioned his aunt and how super powered people took him away from her.

 

A strangled noise of distress escaped him. He clamped a hand over his mouth. Falling backwards, he backpedaled away from the paper with his smiling face on it. He hit the wall and gasped.

 

_ But he wasn't dead _ .

 

Aunt May. She thought he was dead. She thought he'd been killed, just like Uncle Ben. Did they ask her to look at the burnt corpse? She thought the corpse was him.

 

He screamed silently into his hand, tears blurring his vision.

 

The Avengers. They thought the corpse was him too, didn't they?

 

Loneliness engulfed him in a way he'd never experienced before.

 

_ He was here. Alive and fighting. He wasn't dead. The corpse wasn't him!! He was still here! _

 

The Avengers wouldn't be looking for him anymore. No one would be. Just like Norman wanted.

 

The thought made him pause, breath suddenly calming.

 

_ Just like Norman Osborn wanted _

 

He did this. He faked Peter's death. The body was a fake, or someone else. The body wasn't  _ his _ . There would be evidence of this somewhere. 

 

The fact that the body was burnt beyond recognition proved it.

 

It wasn't a perfect replica of him. The thought made him sick, but the body might even be someone else.

 

That meant if someone were to dig, they just might figure out that he was still alive.

 

Did he trust the Avengers and Shield to figure it out? Not enough to wait on them.

 

Who he did trust, however, was Norman Osborn and his desire to keep people from looking twice.

 

And what would make someone look twice? Peter would say something mysteriously happening to his only living relative would sure be suspicious. At least for those who knew his secret.

 

Norman knew it too. He couldn't kidnap Aunt May, or send her his fingers. He could theoretically kill Mrs. Watson and probably be safe. But Norman wasn't going to risk it. Peter just  _ knew. _ It's why the cuffs are on him, because Norman  _ knew _ he couldn't use Aunt May as soon as Peter was pronounced dead.

 

The man was changing tactics.

 

As devastating and isolating his death was, the liberation had him soaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wazzup, guys. How's it hangin'?
> 
> AMonsterCalls helped me with grammaratical stuffs in this chappie because Im helpless.
> 
> Check out their writting! Especially "Vote for Jameson"


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